


like the moon pulled the tide

by munna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munna/pseuds/munna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>yet we have not come to the end of our feelings. [solas/lavellan drabbles]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sacred ashes

There is no sleep for her. She is exhausted, to be sure; the trauma and stress of the past few months settles heavily into her bones. She has the time now; she is victorious in all her endeavors--Corypheus dead, her people elevated in both Orlais and the Free Marches, her dearest friend Divine, and all the power and resources of the Inquisition at her fingertips. But there is no sleep for Lavellan. 

She fears sleep; the nightmares still come to her, even after the Breach was closed, and she worries that Corypheus or one of his other servants may still prowl the depths of the Fade. But above all, she fears him. Seeing him, hearing him, even remnants--it terrifies and angers her. 

_"It would be kinder in the end...but the thought of losing you--"_ He comes close and then he turns away. 

_"Stop. You are beautiful as you are."_ He comes close and then he turns away. Again.

_"I want you to know...what we had was real."_ and then he turns away. Again, and again, and again. 

She's filled with a rage and a sorrow that seems endless. It burns her from the inside out. Solas asked her to give up the one thing that grounded her, the one thing he knew she would never be able to let go. And then he used it against them both, turned her heritage into a sword to fall upon. He told her he was sorry, to harden her heart to a cutting edge, to use her passion as a weapon, and she did. 

But when the battle was done, and the ground had been scorched clean and barren, her heart was still ablaze and there was no one to douse the flames. 

The thought that he might try to come through the Fade now, whether to or apologize or gloat or by accident; it is too much. 

So instead she prays. She prays to Mythal, because now she knows--she knows she is real, knows she can hear her because the voices of her ancestors tell her so. She asks, begs the goddess to take her pain, take her righteous fury--or else give her a reason to burn. 

But there is no answer, no new wall to throw herself against. Life continues on and she can only go ever forward, relying on her friends to keep her from looking back for more than a second. And eventually she finds a rhythm; little reasons to wave her flag, to drink, to love. 

But the fire never will never go out, and Lavellan knows--

\--there is no sleep for her.


	2. a fire that did not burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is a solas/lavellan fic but i am....very gay and couldn't help flirting with josephine on my first playthrough. and then this happened even after i turned her down formally and started dating solas so this is my grand reinterpretation of events.

Cole was correct when he said she burned brightly. Lavellan had a magnetism about her that was hard to describe--a trait that was only enhanced by the Anchor. Solas felt it the moment he grabbed her hand; not when they closed the first Rift, but when he stood watch over her limp body, desperately trying to fix his mistake. 

Her features were regal and commanding--a large, smooth nose, honeyed skin and piercing almond eyes--and although her stature was small, at times her presence made her seem equal to even a qunari in size. She blended in effortlessly with different groups, always knowing when she needed to stand tall or fall back, whether to laugh loudly or to whisper. Although Lavellan claimed to hate it, it was undeniable she was born to play the Game. 

_Solas tells her as such once and Lavellan simply grins wide, toothy and taut. "I was picked as a spy for a reason, emma lath."_

But there was more to her than just charisma and a quick wit ( _"She's also a terrible cook and dull as a rock," Dorian would tell you with a smile_ ). Solas could see the swollen lines of her vallaslin, the way she held her fork and knife like a sword and shield, how she kicked her boots off every chance she got, would be practically bouncing off the walls if they stayed in one place too long; for all her confidence and glibness Lavellan was still in many ways da'len. 

And there was only so much Solas could do for her in that aspect; certainly he had seen his share of grand banquets and political dramas both in his own lifetime and in the Fade, but here he was much like her--stranger in a strange land with kinfolk few and far between. He could offer her companionship, speak to her in their shared tongue, let her call him hahren, but when it came to many modern machinations and etiquette he was at a loss. 

So it was no surprise to him when Lavellan and Ambassador Montilyet began to spend most of their time together, the latter patiently teaching and correcting the Inquisitor's posture, her tone-- _"No, no my lady. That fork goes in your left hand. Yes, I know it seems silly but I've seen wars started over less."_ \--drilling the names and crests of noble houses into her head until Lavellan was repeating them in her sleep. 

It was no surprise that, after a time, their visits became less academic and more...personal. Where they once spent hours sitting in Skyhold's library repeating lesson after lesson, Solas found that the two women began to take their meetings to the garden, or about the tower, voices low and spirits high. 

It was no surprise when it was Lady Montilyet, not him, who first came to Lavellan's side at the Winter Palace when all was said and done, the Inquisition victorious in all its ambitions. 

It was no surprise when he saw the brush of fingertips. It was no surprise when chapped lips met soft hands. It was no surprise when Lavellan gently wrapped her arms around the Ambassador's waist as they swayed side to side on the balcony. 

The rolling in his stomach, the bile rising in his throat, was no surprise either. But he had done such terrible things in the name of pride and jealously; he would not do them again. 

And so instead Solas walked and willed away.


	3. cross'd my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set almost directly after the last chapter. WOW i actually did a continuation! 
> 
> this came out very cutesty bc I love to break my own heart. also some in-game dialogue but changed the set up.

This was, decidedly, a mistake. 

But Solas couldn't think of any believable reason by which he could excuse himself. Instead he continued to sit at the table across from Lavellan, awkwardly picking at his dinner. 

He had approached her earlier that day, purely with the intention of confirming the Inquisitor's and the Ambassador's relationship so he could bury his foolish, foolish feelings in the ground where they belonged. But Solas found himself unable to refuse when Lavellan gently touched his arm, saying _"Oh I'm so sorry Solas, I'm on my way to a council meeting but if you'd like you should stop by my quarters for supper and..."_ and that is why he is now perched on the edge of his chair, watching Lavellan jab her knife into a hunk of meat. 

Solas glanced over the bouquet of flowers sitting the desk in the corner closest to them. He could feel bile rising in his throat once again and frowned. No he told himself; he was not some teenager playing at jealously and love. 

Lavellan noticed his gaze and swallowed her food loudly. "Those are from Josephine. They're from the forest I grew up in." 

"I see." He had figured as much. Solas placed his knife and fork on the table, smoothing his hands across his lap. "Ambassador Montilyet is a lovely young woman."

"Mmm." 

Solas' eyes did not stray from the flowers; he pointedly avoided Lavellan's stare. "You two looked like a match made in the Fade at the Winter Palace."

"Ah." Out of the corner of his eye, Solas could see Lavellan fall back into her seat, pushing away her plate. "You saw that?"

When he didn't respond, she leaned forward and placed her hand on the table; not touching his own, but close if enough that she could, if she wanted. "Josephine is wonderful," Lavellan said quietly. "But if I were to be honest, I wish I had had the chance to dance with you." 

Solas looked down to where their hands almost--but not quite, never should--and then laughed, scooting his chair back _just_ enough. "I'm rather glad we didn't; I can't imagine I'd be much of a lively partner."

The words were hollow, petty, and she knew that. Lavellan sighed loudly, drawing back and placing her face in her palm. "I hate when you do that."

"Do what?"

"That...fake self-deprecation thing. I know you don't actually think any of that."

He said nothing. What could he say? She was right, of course. She always was; always managed to catch him in the act of pretending at a life although she maybe did not realize it. 

A heavy silence fell between the two of them, the weight of their unspoken words drawn down around them. 

It was Lavellan, in the end, who broke the tension, shrugging it off as she always did. "Solas, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"What?" Solas blinked once, twice, and then, remembering his original intetions, "Oh, yes. May I see your hand?" 

"My--with the Anchor?" Solas nodded and held out his palm. Lavellan complied, scooting her chair closer so that they sat knee to knee. 

Solas gently took her left hand, not quite stroking her palm. He studied it for a moment, and then glanced up to meet Lavellan's gaze. 

"What were you like? Before the Anchor." Lavellan frowned slightly as he continued. "Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your...spirit?"

Lavellan hummed out a quite "hmm" as Solas traced circles around the green light she held. "Honestly, if it did, do you think I would have noticed?"

Solas smiled. "I suppose not. That is an excellent point." 

"Why do you ask?"

He lowered his gaze to her palm, the Anchor crackling like a sparkler. "You are not what I expected."

Lavellan laughed at that, short and loud. "Sorry to disappoint, hahren."

"It isn't disappointing...most people are predictable. But you have a wisdom I have not seen since--since my deepest journeys into the Fade. You act with such subtlety...if the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours--" The Anchor jumped again, surprising him. 

"Yes?" Lavellan bent over him, expression unreadable. 

"If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours...perhaps I have misjudged them." 

Lavellan sighed a little, touching Solas' exposed wrist with her free hand. "I don't hold the Dalish up as perfect, but we have something worth honoring." Pride crept into her voice and he thought she couldn't look any more beautiful than she did now, sitting straight and strong and proud; like a true member of the People. 

"And what is that?" He couldn't stop staring at her lips. 

"A memory of the old ways." 

Oh, the way she smiled. In a past life Solas may have been a god but in this one he was a weak man. He returned her grin, soft and slight. 

After a moment, Lavellan's expression became confused. "Solas--what does all this mean?"

Solas gazed at her with a longing he had not felt in centuries, since long before uthenera. He thought of all she stood for--her people, _his_ people, the Inquisition, the whole of Thedas. Solas thought of all she had done for him--trying with all her might to unbind his friend, bringing him relics of his lost empire, her best attempts at restoring their long gone history, her forgiveness. He thought of the flowers on the table, the kiss on the hand; he thought about her full lips as they pressed against his in the Fade. 

"It means...though it would be kinder in the end, the thought of losing is--" He didn't even finish his sentence before Lavellan seized his hand with her own, pulling him forward to kiss him full and hard on the mouth. Her left hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the Anchor sending shocks of magic down his spine as Solas clung to her, nearly falling out of his chair. 

Pride and jealously had moved him to do terrible things in the past; but, perhaps, this time would be different.


	4. souveri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took forever! i was without a computer for the last month.  
> also these are all out of order.

There is imbalance in their relationship; this they both know. 

She is the leader of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste, with power and allies to rival Empress Celene herself and Solas is---not. Though Lavellan suspects this was not always true, watching him, the way he speaks and the ease with which he navigates the politics of the Inquisition and its friends. All the same, she goes through great lengths to make him understand he is her equal; asks him to attend meetings at the war table, asks for advice reports and requests, and thanks him every time-- _Ma serannas melava halani ma'vhenan_ \--even when he has no help to give. 

But there was also the factor of their age. Lavellan is just a summer shy of being twenty five, vallaslin fresh and feet always itching, always on the move. Solas is...at least twenty years her senior, if not older (he will never say), and though he follows wherever she leads it is at a much slower and fixed pace. 

Solas pretends this difference doesn't bother him but Lavellan catches him too many times--watching her and Cassandra walking side by side while he shuffles behind, or dissecting himself in the mirror, hands rubbing the back of his head, his neck, his eyes, mouth, ears; as if trying to remove this face and reveal a new one--to know that is far from the truth. 

So it is for this reason that when Solas kneels at her feet to remove her boots--as he often does the nights they lay together--she stops him before he can even undo her laces, grasping his hand firmly and hauling him up until his eyes are level with hers, their bodies parallel on the floor of the tent. Solas looks away when she lifts her hands to his face. 

Lavellan rubs her thumbs over his cheeks, silent, studying him. "Look at me ma'atisha." 

He does as she commands, as he always does in these tender moments, and grasps the side of her face tenderly, mirroring her actions. 

"You seem tired vhenan."

Lavellan laughs. "Is that your ever polite way of saying 'ar lath ma but you look like shit'?"

Solas smiles in return, a little quirk at the right side of his mouth. "I said no such thing!"

"You didn't have to!" Her voice is accusatory but her face belies her true feelings and Solas' smile grows as Lavellan makes a show of smelling her clothes. "Not that I disagree...I could certainly use a bath. The sooner the better."

"Unfortunately I think it may be a while before that wish can be granted. We have at least three days until we reach Skyhold again."

"Ah....well, 'halam'shivanas' as they say." 

"Hmmm." Lavellan grins as Solas moves to wrap his arms around her, tucking her head into the crook of his neck and sighing. 

It is here they can be equals. It is here they can be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ma'atisha = my calm  
> halam'shivanas = phrase that means 'the sweet sacrifice of duty'  
> ma serannas melava halani ma'vhenan = 'thank you for helping me, my heart'


	5. fire and the end of time

Solas came to her the night before what was to be their greatest battle.

Lavellan had greeted him without a word, leading him up the stairs to her room without a word. She came to sit on the edge of her bed, frowning as he stood before her.

Taking a deep breath, he kneeled before Lavellan--his Inquisitor, his vhenan--who immediately drew back, calves pressed against the bed frame. 

"What are you doing?" She asked it quietly, confused. Solas looked up at Lavellan and thought she never looked more like the leader of one of the most powerful organizations in Thedas than she did now, dressed in nothing but her trailing dressing grown, eyes hard, thick black hair--for once unbraided--falling in waves like the Waking Sea. He tried to burn the image into his memory. _Built from battle, fed on fighting, strong from struggle..._

The irony that the power she now held--literally--in the palm of her hand once belonged to him did not escape Solas. But there was no doubt that it was power she well deserved; perhaps even more than himself, at this point. 

That is why he bowed his head and spoke, voice low. "I have acted selfishly all my life. I thought I knew better but recent events have shown me I am as much a fool as I have ever been. I hurt both you and myself." 

Solas chanced to glance up and saw Lavellan staring back, eyes both wary and hopeful. He carefully removed the wolf jaw that hung from his neck and stood to place it over her own. 

When he pulled back, Lavellan touched it gently, pursing her lips. 

"I cannot take back any of my actions or my words." Solas brushed her hair behind her ear. "But I can promise this; I will protect you. Tomorrow, in the battle to come, and after." 

Lavellan searched his face, her frown only growing deeper with every word. Solas opened his mouth to speak again but she interrupted him, standing and pushing him back. "Stop that."

She gripped the bone around her neck tightly. "Stop talking like you're going to die. You aren't." 

"That remains to be seen, Inquisi--"

"I said stop!" The Anchor flared with her emotions, green light fracturing the room. 

Solas stepped back and sighed, expression sad. "Indril..."

She looked away then and seemed to deflate; it was rare any one called her by her given name, him now, especially. 

After a moment Lavellan once again met his gaze, straightening her spine. "Thank you for your loyalty, but you don't need to worry. I plan to see us through this--all of us." Her tone was formal, but she did smile, if not tightly. "As long as I live and breathe, so shall you."

Oh, how he wanted this. How he wanted to belong to her, to her cause, how he wanted he wanted this life--to become the person she thought he was, to live as her Solas, her vhenan, instead of parading around in this borrowed body, pretending at a life he was never meant to have; to rest, finally.

But he is not, is not Solas, is not a person. He is Fen'harel; a god, a legend, a concept. Both monster and savior; the thing that goes bump in the night and the guardian of the People; but not friend, not lover. 

Lavellan was staring at him, waiting for him to respond. Solas knew what she wanted--what he wanted--but he let the moment where he could have taken it all back and confessed the truth, pass. Instead, he pulled back one last time, murmured a 'ma serannas,' and took his leave. 

He pretended not to hear the cry of frustration, or the clang of the dishes that met the floor soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a headcanon that the body solas uses in game isn't his--like how mythal lives inside of flemeth, except a full possession, rather than a partnership? bc i can't think of any other good reason why they used this design over his concept art lol


End file.
